A Short History of Hogwarts, Abridged
by Dark Satanic Mills
Summary: "This is a stupid name for the interview. I've only been at Hogwarts a century or so, so that's all I can tell you about, it's hardly a definitive history, is it?"  Historical accuracy? Not this portrait's strong point. Mentions of slash, ONESHOT


**This is a sort-of-sequel to Of Mice and Magic, but it's fine on its own**

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><p><span>A Short History of Hogwarts<span>

"What's that red light blinking for?"

"That just means it's on. Are you ready to start, Mrs West?"

"Do I look like a bloody Mrs to you?"

"I'm sorry, it says here Mrs West, wife of..."

"Yes, yes, but I'm only 19. I marry him in, oh, three years. My last three years of freedom."

"Ok... This is Kate Skeeter for the Daily Prophet, with Grace West, late wife...sorry, wife-to-be, of notable ministry employee Alexander West, currently residing as a portrait in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ms. West, tell us about yourself."

"Well, I'll start by saying this is a stupid name for the interview. I've only been at Hogwarts a century or so, so that's all I can tell you about, it's hardly a definitive history, is it? I did tell you, but _apparently_ this sounds better as a title. Ok, ok, stop waving your arms like a banshee, I'll start talking.

I was wasted on my time, I really was. The early 20th century was dull, all skirts to your ankles and simpering at men with no brains and fewer bollocks. We were expected to go to balls and wear ridiculous corsets you couldn't breathe in and stupid flouncy dresses. Sometime in the early '80s I bullied the seamstress in a painting on the 4th floor into converting the stupid ruffled dress I was painted in into a miniskirt. There were shoulder pads too, but I quietly got rid of those in '89 and fervently denied I'd ever had them.

You'd think being magic, witches would have a better time of it, but no, men are as dense as ever, whether they can make sparks and bangs or not. We were allowed to go to Hogwarts, but we were 'given' the autumn term off for the season-even History of Magic's more interesting than society balls- and we were kept separate from the men for everything, from lessons to meals. The one bonus of living in an age presided over by chaperones like vultures over a carcass was that I got _really good_ at scheming. Oh, and they taught us household spells instead of anything worthwhile! I could make a bloody white sauce with a flick of my wand, but while the boys learnt to make Veritaserum and the draught of living death, we sat in the next dungeon making a salve for bruises. It was _boring_. Of course, the more adventurous girls soon found every secret passage in the castle, so we did get a bit of fun. But then Miss-Perfect-Bloody-Prefect Amanda Watson told our Head of House she'd seen me _hugging_, shock horror, a _boy_, and the shit hit the fan. It was lucky she didn't see what we'd been doing ten minutes earlier.

Things had livened up a bit by the twenties, but by then I was married off to some suit at the ministry with grey hair and a grey personality. And then I died, suddenly and not altogether regretfully, and I ended up as a portrait, painted just before I was married. For the first few years I hung in the hall of my husband's house. That, my dears, quickly made me re-evaluate my atheism. My mother had never appreciated my theory that if God made fit blokes, he made them to be shagged, but after I'd been hanging in that hallway for two weeks I realised I'd gone to hell. For god's sake, I'd died and he still wanted to tell me about his day at work over dinner! Nuh-uh, I wasn't some metaphysical psychiatrist, and I told him so. Loudly. It's amazing what dying does for your inhibitions – steamrollers them, actually. Anyway, I refuse to believe that his early death was in any way my fault. How was I supposed to know that making ghost noises behind his bed in the middle of the night would give him that heart attack?

At least things got more interesting after that. I was passed to a distant relation, then very quickly donated to Hogwarts after I told him the story of my death with gory hyperbole. I was on a third floor corridor for a bit – that was fun! I was next to a mad old monk, although I expect his madness was down to the fact that he had a massive barrel of wine hidden behind one mouldy pew. I can't remember many of those nights, but eventually Brother Jacob was removed to a little-used classroom after he started following the caretaker around, shouting 'Donkey!' at him tipsily and then collapsing into hysterical giggles. No one's really sure why. Luckily I'd had years in my husband's house to perfect my innocent-yet-condescending face, which came in handy when a professor came running. Turns out serious wizards aren't overly impressed when their artwork starts getting pissed whilst there's the greatest wizarding war of all time going on. I mean, how was I supposed to know that some crazy dude called Griddle-something was, well, invading Eastern Europe and viciously murdering everyone who stood in his way? The limit of my knowledge of day-to-day affairs was that Sarah Finchley kissed John Hawthorne behind the greenhouses. Oh, I got some good gossip in those days! This was the '40s! A kiss behind the greenhouses was like an orgy in the library in 2025!

I've tried to forget the '50s as much as I can. There's nothing like a giant snake and the murder of a 14 year old girl to put a downer on your decade. I guess I missed the hoop skirts and beehives.

In '63, I finally got moved off the corridor. It's easy to get bored of watching kids walk past after 30 years of it. I'll tell you this, a little persistence does wonders – it only took 3 years of yelling at Dippet every time he walked past to get him pissed off enough to do as I so politely requested. I was in one of the professor's offices for a few months, but _apparently_ wolf whistling when he took his jacket off is inappropriate. Who knew?

They put me in the Transfiguration classroom for more than 60 years after that, which was amusing enough. After more than half a century I have a brilliant repertoire of sarcastic comments to make when someone sets fire to their porcupine, or turns the teacher's eyebrows curly. I soon also realised that the back of the classroom was the destination of choice for some very, ahem, intimate conversations. It never got old, the look on their faces when I added my own suggestions as to how to get that girl to sleep with him. I don't think anyone had considered Petrificus Totalus before. I considered it my duty in those years to lend a hand to any student who needed my words of wisdom, but then McGonagall overheard me advising a nervous Hufflepuff 5th year on the best way to give head, and she moved me again. Uprooted me from my home, my hobby, my sacred duty of imparting wisdom to the next generation, to put me in the freakin' Slytherin freakin' boys' dormitory.

Somewhere in the middle of that , Voldemort rose to power and was defeated by a baby, who then came to Hogwarts, fought him off another handful of times, finally killed him in battle and put to bed the greatest evil the earth had ever known. But honestly? I missed the whole thing. I only know this because I heard people talking about it, and others have filled in the gaps since. The battle of Hogwarts raged around me, but my portrait was hit by a spell early on and my backdrop collapsed, knocking me out and giving me a headache for a week. All I remember are a few flashes of light and one hell of a din.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the Slytherins. I sulked for the first two days in the dormitory, once I found out they were all boring and goofy. I was hoping for a bit of action, you know what I mean? No? Doesn't matter, because there was _zilch_. But then I got chatting to my Scorp, and I ended up helping him seduce my Albie, Harry Potter's son. Oh come on, they're married now, they had to have got together at some point, right? Their daughter's just started at Hogwarts, but she's in Ravenclaw so I never see her. We keep in touch, though; they had a sketch done from my portrait so I can visit. Of course they're grateful, I take complete credit for their relationship. Rose'll tell you it was her too, she's been Scorp's best friend since they started Hogwarts, but I was definitely the catalyst. I love those boys, and they were sure as hell busy once they finally got together! Albie lost his V-card within...what? What's that supposed to be? What is this, charades? Ok, I'll have a go, um, zip, mouth, turn...lock? Oh, for god's sake, why can't I say that Albus Potter had very hot, very kinky sex when he was..."

"This is Kate Skeeter for the Daily Prophet. This interview was terminated after the conversation veered slightly off topic. Suggest we scrap feature?"

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><p><strong>I have a feeling Grace isn't going anywhere. I love reviews - just a hint! Hope you enjoyed :)<strong>


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